There and Back Again
by PollyVictorian
Summary: The Lancers are working together, even though they don't know it. A bit of fun inspired by a challenge to use chapter titles from 'The Hobbit' in a Lancer story and based around an original 19th century advertisement.


Found:  
A crystal locket with portrait inside. The owner can have the same by proving  
property and paying for advertisement at this office.

* * *

A WARM WELCOME

"That's a strange gift for a baby, Murdoch," Angel O'Brien declared.

"I wanted to give her something she would really like one day, when she's old enough to appreciate it," Murdoch Lancer told his friend's wife. "Christening gifts like silver mugs or spoons are no use to bairns and they're just things to be dusted or stored away later. Your daughter will take a real delight in wearing that when she gets to be a young woman, Angel."

"She's taking delight in it right now," laughed Paul O'Brien, dangling the crystal locket above his baby daughter's head. "Look at her, she knows it's something special."

Baby Teresa waved a hand in the air and gurgled.

* * *

A THIEF IN THE NIGHT

Angel O'Brien jerked open the valise and started packing her things. It wouldn't take long, there wasn't much at Lancer that she wanted to keep – certainly not those dreary calico things she had to wear for the skivvy work her husband expected her to do. Household chores day in and day out wasn't what she'd expected when she married Paul O'Brien. Well, she was getting away from it now. Both Paul and Murdoch away on a cattle-buying trip and the Silver Bell Players performing in Sacramento – it was a perfect opportunity. Bert Silver would give her a place in his troupe, she knew.

She closed the valise and made one final check of the wardrobe and bureau. No, nothing else worth taking along – wait. As she was about to close the top drawer of the bureau, she caught sight of the leather jewel case tucked away amongst the baby clothes – that locket Murdoch had given the baby at her christening. She pulled it out of the case and held it up to the light. It was fine crystal, with a place for a picture inside. Wasted on a baby, that was for sure. She put it around her neck, picked up her shawl and the valise, and slipped out of the house.

* * *

LOST...

"St Louis! I can't wait to see it," Angel Day smiled up at the man beside her as they walked along the deck of the steamboat.

"See it you certainly shall, my dear, and more importantly, St Louis will see you!" declared Bertram Silver, impresario extraordinaire. "It's been a dreary few years, I know, playing those uncouth Western towns, but you'll find an audience here who appreciates your talent – and your beauty," he added, knowing how to flatter the self-centred woman beside him. "Speaking of which," he went on, "I have a little gift for you."

"Really?" Angel Day's eyes lit up. "Oh, what is it?" Angel loved gifts and Bertram knew it.

"I've taken the liberty of having a miniature painted of you. Just the size to fit in that pretty crystal locket of yours," he beamed, producing a case containing a tiny portrait. As he expected, she was enchanted with it. She was the only woman he knew who would be vain enough to wear her own portrait around her neck. Still, that vanity made her easy to please. She was good on the stage and good in his bed, the two things that mattered most to him. A bit of fuss and flattery now and then to keep her sweet paid good dividends.

Now he said, "Here, let me fit it for you." Angel unclasped the silver chain from around her neck and handed the locket to him. He slipped the portrait inside it. "Perfect!" he declared, handing the locket back. "Now it's a thing of true beauty." Good Lord, she's lapping it up, he thought, as she gave him a dazzling smile and held the locket up admiringly.

There was a rumble of thunder and Bertram looked up anxiously. The gathering of the clouds overhead alarmed him.

"We'd best get inside, my dear," he said. "It's going to rain any moment …" Even as he spoke there was a flash of lightning almost dead above them and a simultaneous, deafening clap of thunder. Next moment the clouds burst and pelting rain was lashing the deck. There was a mad scramble to get into shelter. Bertram hustled Angel towards the cabin but the press of their fellow passengers pushed them back against the railing. Angel's smart high-heeled boot slipped on the wet decking and she stumbled, clutching at the railing for support. The locket flew out of her hand and over the side, disappearing into the muddy water of the Mississippi.

When finally they gained the shelter of the cabin, Angel looked up at her escort.

"Bert, I'm so sorry. That lovely portrait you had painted, and I've lost it. Do forgive me." She put her finest tone of appeal into her voice.

"I'll have another portrait painted, Angel, that will be no trouble at all," Bertram assured her. "But I'm afraid you've lost that beautiful locket. Such a pity."

"Oh, the locket doesn't matter," Angel responded. "It was nothing special."

* * *

... AND FOUND

"Don't, Scott, Uncle will give us a leathering if we get wet," Peter's voice quavered.

"You're not going to get wet, and I'll dry my feet off before we go back," Scott replied as he took off his shoes and stockings and prepared to wade into the river. "That thing looks like more than just a piece of glass. I'm going to get it."

The mud squelched around his feet as he entered the water. He moved forward carefully, his gaze on the shiny object that had caught his eye as he and his friend walked along the riverbank. He reached into the water and grasped it. Straightening up he turned towards his friend with a smile of triumph. Turned a little too quickly – as he twisted around his foot slid from underneath him. The muddy riverbed offered no purchase as he strove frantically to keep his balance and a moment later he was sprawling full length in the Mississippi sludge.

Peter was right about the leathering. Scott stood respectfully in front of Mr Galbraith in his study.

"A boy of thirteen should have more sense than to go scrambling about in the mud, no matter what the reason," Peter's uncle began. "More importantly, you and Peter were forbidden to go down to that stretch of the river in the first place. Just because you're not at home doesn't mean you can disregard strict orders. You've displayed both disobedience and foolishness, Scott, and on both counts fully deserve punishment. I'm in loco parentis to you and Peter while you're visiting St Louis and it's my duty to maintain discipline. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Scott hung his head. He fully understood.

A short while later Scott once again stood in front of his host, not just out of respect but because standing was more comfortable than sitting anyway.

"Now, what was it that was so important?" Mr Galbraith asked quizzically. Scott produced the crystal locket he had fished out of the mud.

"I thought it might be something special to someone and I could return it to them," he explained.

"This looks like it's been in the water for a while," Mr Galbraith remarked. "There's almost nothing left of the portrait. It might have been in the river for months, even years. How do you think you'll trace the owner?" he tossed the question at the boy. Scott hesitated.

"Well, I could ask people, I suppose …"

"It would take a long time to ask everyone in St Louis, wouldn't it? And the owner might not even be in St Louis anymore. It could belong to someone travelling past on a steamboat." Chester Galbraith kept his voice serious but had to suppress a smile. He liked young Garrett. The boy had taken his punishment without complaint and was serious about wanting to do the owner of the piece of jewellery a good turn. He waited to see what the lad would come up with.

Scott was stumped. It was almost like Peter's uncle was asking him a riddle but he was in the dark as to what he should do. He frowned in concentration, absently shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. His right hand encountered something, distracting him for a moment. What have I got in my pocket? he thought. Then he remembered: he had cut out a newspaper advertisement for a collapsing telescope. He had calculated that if he saved up his allowance, he would be able to buy it before he went back to Boston. Suddenly the solution to his present dilemma came to him.

"I could advertise in the newspaper!"

Mr Galbraith smiled and nodded, pleased. The boy had come up with an answer.

"That's a good idea, Scott; in fact, it's about all you can do. Of course," he added, making himself sound stern once again, "an advertisement has to be paid for, you realize. The cost will come out of your allowance." Scott's heart sank. So much for the telescope. Then something else occurred to him.

"What if no-one answers the advertisement?" he asked.

"If it is not claimed after seven years, then it becomes yours. But until then, you are obliged to keep it safe. You've taken on a responsibility, Scott, and you have to see it through. Come along, I'll go with you to the newspaper office." Mr Galbraith donned his hat and led the way out of the house, the smile returning to his face in spite of himself.

Scott followed him gloomily. He couldn't even look forward to sitting down to dinner.

* * *

A SHORT REST

Scott was packing. Finally deemed fit enough to return to duty, his recuperation from the effects of months in prison complete and his former brevet rank of captain now confirmed, he would be leaving in the morning to join the newly formed 7th Cavalry in Kansas. He was not as sorry to be leaving Boston as he supposed he should be. The fortnight's leave, a short rest before taking up his new assignment, had been spent in the shadow of his grandfather's undisguised disapproval. Harlan Garrett had been opposed to his grandson's re-enlistment but Scott knew he was making the right decision. After the horror of the battlefield, and the worse horror of the prison camp, sliding neatly into the role of a society gentleman was an impossibility.

There wasn't much to pack. His smart Boston wardrobe would be of no use in the remote military post he was headed to. Just a few personal items, two or three books, a couple of photographs … as he opened his desk he noticed something, a small leather pouch stowed away at the back. Puzzled, he opened it and shook out the contents, then smiled. It was the crystal locket he'd retrieved from the mud of the Mississippi on that school vacation. Over seven years ago, now. Well, that meant it was his, according to the dictum Peter's uncle had laid down, not that it would be of any use in a fort full of soldiers. He was about to put it back in the desk but on an impulse threw it into his valise. It would take up no room, and one never knew, there might be a pretty girl or two in Abilene.

* * *

THE NEXT STAGE

"Haven't you got anything pretty stashed away somewhere, Doc?" Jack Walker surveyed the available merchandise in Moon's Frontier Store in exasperation.

"Don't know why a length of ribbon isn't good enough," grumbled the proprietor of Abilene's main – only – store. "A few ribbons and bows and a bit of calico keeps most of the womenfolk around here happy. Next thing you'll be wanting roast mutton, instead of good honest beef. Morning, Captain Lancer," he added as a young cavalry officer came through the door.

"Good morning, Dr Moon," Scott returned the greeting. "Hello, Jack. I have the papers here to get those barrels of gunpowder out of bond for you, Dr Moon. Just needs your signature." He handed a sheaf of documents to the storekeeper then turned to Walker. "What's got you looking like a rainy Sunday morning, Jack?" he asked, surveying the mingled gloom and annoyance on his friend's face.

"Wants fancy trinkets for that youngest girl of his," Moon told him as he scribbled his signature on the official forms. Jack glared at him.

"It's Ruth's birthday tomorrow," he explained to Scott. "I was hoping," he emphasised the word, with another meaning look at the storekeeper, "that I could get her something a little more special than a length of ribbon for a gift."

"Maybe Captain Lancer has some Eastern fol-de-rols that might be good enough for you," Moon retorted as he handed the papers back to Scott. "Did you bring anything along with you to impress the ladies out West, Captain?"

"As a matter of fact, I might," was the response that the cavalry officer surprised him with. "Meet me in the saloon tonight, Jack, and we'll see if I can cheat Dr Moon out of some business." Scott grinned as he waved a farewell to the two men and left the store.

As they sat at a table that evening in the log cabin that was Abilene's only saloon, Scott showed the crystal locket to Jack.

"It's a beauty, Scott," Jack declared. "It would be perfect for Ruth. It's her last birthday at home, you see," he explained. "She and Bobby Alston are getting married next spring. It'll be just me and Sarah then, all the kids will have left once Ruthie goes …" his voice trailed off wistfully, then he came briskly back to business. "I'll pay you what it's worth, of course. What will be a fair price?"

"The cost of a newspaper advertisement," Scott told him, "plus," he added with a grin, "another glass of whiskey to dull the discomfort of a leathering."

* * *

THE RETURN JOURNEY

Ruth Alston stood in her garden and waited. She was uneasy – more than uneasy – at her husband's plan to try blasting in the disused gold mine dug into the hill less than a mile from their house. They had come to California to be farmers, not miners, but Bobby wanted to try his luck. She didn't blame him, in a way. Two poor seasons had left them almost broke and though they both knew there was no fortune to be made in the worked-out mine, still it might yield enough to tide them over.

She saw Bobby running across from the other side of the hill. The fuse must be lit. She held her breath – the explosion came. The explosion, and a yell, and the blood-curdling scream of a horse. Oh, Lord, no!

Bobby was running full speed back to the mineshaft and she followed him, dreading the sight that might be waiting. Someone must have been riding in from the other direction so that Bobby hadn't seen him when he lit the fuse. She came in sight of what had been the mine entrance. Amid the tangle of devastated rock, a horse lay thrashing on the ground and a young man was struggling to his feet, staggering the first time but finally managing to stand straight. His gaze went to the horse, taking in the animal's broken legs. He pulled the gun from his holster and ended the creature's pain.

Bobby ran up to the man, his face ashen.

"Are you alright?" he asked. The young man turned on him.

"Was that you, doin' the blasting?" he demanded, the rage in his voice no less terrifying because the words were spoken quietly. His gun was still in his hand.

"Yes, I'm sorry …" Bobby began but the stranger interrupted him, his fury openly mounting.

"Didn't you think to look around? Yell a warning?" he demanded.

"You're right, I should have shouted a warning, but no-one ever rides up from that direction. I'm sorry," Bobby said again. "Look, come up to the house, we'll make sure you're alright …" he was interrupted again.

"I'm alright," the young man told him, "but I'll come up to your house to get a replacement horse – or the money to buy one." The anger was simmering in the stranger's eyes – an anger that made Ruth afraid. The man's gun was still not back in the holster.

"I haven't got either," Bobby confessed, ashamedly but looking the stranger in the eye. "We've no money in the house and no horses, only a yoke of oxen. I can't repay you for the horse."

The silence was laden. In an abrupt decision, Ruth stepped forward, unfastening the silver chain around her neck.

"Here," she said, holding out the crystal locket. "It's the only thing of value we have. We can't pay you what we owe you but we'll pay what we can." She waited. The stranger looked down at the locket for a moment then back at her.

"It'll do," he said. He put the gun back in its holster and turned to Bobby. "Help me get my saddle off the horse."

Ruth moved back, out of the men's way as they levered the body of the horse off the ground. She didn't grudge the loss of the locket. Her husband's life was worth far more to her and that holster was low on the young man's hip, the way a gunfighter wore it.

Johnny felt a little ashamed as he trudged over the hill, his saddle balanced on his shoulder. It had been an accident, after all. That horse he got from the rurales had been crowbait, anyway, and he should be thankful he was walking over the hill now, not lying dead under it. It was going to be a long walk to Morro Coyo, though. Maybe once he got onto the main road he could get a ride – if he was lucky, he might even be able to flag down the stage.

* * *

AN UNEXPECTED PARTY

"Johnny! You made it back in time! We was gettin' worried," Jelly greeted the younger Lancer son as he rode Barranca into the corral and dismounted.

"Back in time for what?" Johnny asked, puzzled.

"The party, of course!" Jelly exclaimed, then eyed him narrowly. "You haven't forgotten it's Teresa's birthday have you, Johnny Lancer?"

"Of course not!" Johnny declared, hoping against hope that the wrangler would believe him. "Never thought of anything else the whole time I was in Stockton."

"And you got her somethin' nice for a present, didn't you?" Jelly demanded almost sternly.

"I've got that in hand, Jelly," asserted Johnny airily. "Just look after Barranca for me, will you? I've got to go smarten up – there'll be pretty girls at the party, won't there?" He winked and grinned as he strode towards the house.

Diablo! Teresa's birthday – he'd thought it was next week. And he didn't have a present for her. Why hadn't he thought ahead and bought something in Stockton? Teresa would laugh it off, sweet kid that she was, but she would know he'd forgotten. And Murdoch would be disappointed in him. As he mounted the stairs to his room he tried to think of something he could say when he fronted up empty-handed but he had the feeling that any sort of excuse would just get him out of the frying pan into the fire.

He washed up and combed his hair, then hunted through the wardrobe for his smartest clothes. At least he could dress up extra special for the party. Maybe he'd even wear a tie. He was sure he had one somewhere. He started searching the bureau, way at the back where he stored the things he hardly ever used.

Hey, there was that old bandanna. He hadn't worn that since – how long ago? Before he came to Lancer, must have been. Strange, looked like there was something wrapped in it. What on earth …? He pulled at the knot in the faded cotton kerchief and unwrapped the object. A crystal locket. Of course, he remembered now – that pretty young woman and her damn fool husband, blasting the hillside away. Hadn't given it a thought since, but now he held the trinket up to the light. Beautiful. Teresa would have her birthday gift after all.

"Oh, Johnny, it's lovely! And it's got a place for a picture, too. Thank you!" Teresa kissed his cheek and held the locket up to show Murdoch and Scott.

Scott blinked, then told himself not to be foolish. There were probably hundreds of lockets like that, all turned out of the same workshop somewhere.

Murdoch stared at the locket for a moment. It looked almost the same design as that one he'd had made for Teresa as a christening present, the one that had disappeared. He shook his head. His memory must be playing tricks on him; perhaps he was getting old.

"I'm going to put my father's picture in it," Teresa declared. There was a half happy, half wistful smile on her face as she added:

"It will be something special."


End file.
